Chapter 176 Chapter 176 Bachelorette and Bachelor Party
Ivan didn’t want to go to a strip club—I had to drag him into it.
“It’s not for you,” I told him. “It’s for your friends and your brothers.”
Now here we are, all of us in Vegas. His brothers, their perfect other halves, his friends… even the girls he used to sleep with. Yulia is here. Vladimira too. She hasn’t met Constantine yet, but she will—at our wedding.
And that wedding? It’s going to be completely over the top.
My sister, my cousins, my friends… even the men I used to sleep with. Exes on both sides, everywhere you look.
A joint bachelorette and bachelor party—his idea.
Ivan has been… different. Quieter. Careful. Like he’s walking on eggshells around me. With everything we’ve been through, there’s this tension in him—like he’s waiting for something to go wrong. Like our happiness might implode at any second.
I trust him.
But I’m starting to realize I might actually have to say that out loud.
“This is a bad idea,” I mutter to Gemma as I spray glitter across my chest and shoulders.
She just grins at me in the mirror.
“I disagree,” she says. “This is the best idea you’ve ever had.”
I’m not so sure.
We rented out the entire club—Carnal Pleasures. The whole place is ours for the night. Everyone’s already drunk, the energy loud and reckless. There are strippers everywhere—men and women—but this part?
This is ours.
My routine.
Me and my girls.
Tish and Yesenia’s husbands are about to get a side of them they’ve never seen before, and honestly? I’m not sure they’re ready. We’re not going fully nude—no way—but the lingerie we’re wearing might as well be.
Lace. Satin. Barely-there everything.
My stomach twists.
Not from stage fright.
From Ivan.
I don’t know how he’s going to take this.
The lights dim slightly, and the anticipation shifts the entire room. Conversations quiet. Eyes turn toward the stage. The bass hums low through the floor before the song even starts.
I swallow hard.
Too late to back out now.
Then the music hits.
I laugh under my breath.
Of course Erika picked this—I Like Him by Princess Nokia. The same song. The same energy. Like she’s daring me to go all in.
I hear Vince holler immediately—he recognizes it.
We step out together, slow, deliberate.
The stage lights hit us, warm and blinding.
And there he is.
Ivan.
Front and center. Right by the stage. Everyone else hangs back.
He leans back in his chair, dragging a hand through his hair before resting it behind his neck. I see his chest rise and fall as he takes a deep breath.
His eyes lock on me.
They don’t move.
Not once.
We each take a pole, lining up, letting the tension stretch—just a second longer than necessary.
Then, slowly, we untie our dresses.
Fabric loosens.
Slips.
Drops.
I let mine fall off my shoulders, dragging it down my body before it pools at my feet.
For half a second, I hesitate.
Not because I’m unsure of what I’m doing—but because of who is watching.
The Pavlov women. Perfect. Polished. Untouchable.
And me.
I inhale.
He chose me.
I lift my chin.
He knows exactly what I look like.
I step forward.
I am enough.
I grab the pole and pull myself up, wrapping one leg around it as I spin. Slow. Controlled. Letting the movement stretch out, giving him time to take it in.
His gaze doesn’t flicker.
Not to the others.
Not to the room.
Just me.
I lean back, arching slightly, letting my body move with the rhythm—every roll of my hips, every drag of my hands intentional.
He shifts in his seat.
Adjusting himself.
That alone sends heat straight through me.
I climb higher, flipping upside down, my hair falling toward the floor. For a split second, I panic, my tits—stay in place, stay in place—but everything holds.
I hear the reaction behind him. The guys are louder now.
But I don’t look.
I only look at him.
I drop into the splits, slow, controlled, lowering myself inch by inch until I’m back on the stage floor. My body moves with the beat, grinding, rolling, every motion sharper now, more deliberate.
Then I turn toward him.
And crawl.
On all fours.
His expression shifts—just a little.
That edge of control cracking.
I make it to the edge of the stage.
Dropping down is the hardest part—but I don’t hesitate.
I land smoothly.
The cheers behind him spike, but they fade into nothing.
Because now I’m right in front of him.
I turn my back to him and lower myself slowly into his lap, leaning against him, letting my body settle against his.
His hands are on me instantly.
Like he can’t help it.
Like he’s been holding back too long.
They move over my body—my waist, my stomach, sliding up, rough and warm.
His lips find my neck.
I grind against him slowly, feeling exactly how hard he is.
“Are you okay?” I whisper, breathless.
“I am so hard,” he murmurs, voice breaking into something almost desperate. “Fuck… you’re perfect. Why are you marrying me?”
I turn, shifting in his lap, letting my body drag against his as I face him.
Then I drop to my knees.
Slow.
Intentional.
Rising back up just as slowly, making sure every inch of me brushes against him.
I straddle him, moving my hips in a slow rhythm, his hands gripping me tighter now, holding me in place.
My chest is right there, inches from his face.
His hands slide up, fingers grazing over me, sending goosebumps down my entire body.
I am so wet.
For a second, I almost lose control.
I could do it. Fuck him.
Right here.
In front of everyone.
The thought hits hard—and I have to rein it in.
Calm down.
I lean back instead, planting my hands behind me, giving him a full view. His hands follow—up my stomach, between my breasts—like he doesn’t know where to touch first.
I shift, pushing off him into a handstand, flipping away just long enough to break the contact—
Then I do the splits again, upside down, letting him see everything.
Every inch.
Every line.
The best seat in the house, it’s what Gemma calls what’s in between my legs.
I turn back toward him, dropping down into his lap again like I belong there.
Because I do.
“I love you so much,” he whispers, his voice softer now, almost lost under the music.
I smile—but it’s not as light as before.
“We need to talk about Mason,” I say, breath uneven, giving him a small, sheepish look. “Let’s see if you still love me after that.”